


this steady light

by dirty_diana



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Post-Canon, no heats just regular sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25435372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirty_diana/pseuds/dirty_diana
Summary: Porthos returns from the front, and needs to settle his inheritance. He and Aramis have unfinished business.*Porthos quickly shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous.""Ridiculous to marry your dear friend, who cares for you deeply?" Aramis narrowed his eyes in a question, the familiar expression at once playful and serious. "You need an alpha, and a husband. I submit my services."
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay/Porthos du Vallon
Comments: 20
Kudos: 57
Collections: Just Married Exchange 2020





	this steady light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinlizzy2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/gifts).



Porthos sat in silence in Aramis' office, staring at the letter in his hand. Without a word he passed it over to Aramis, who perused it in silence. The winter sun glinted through windows tracked with frost, causing Porthos to duck his head away from the blinding reflection of light. The First Minister's desk was stacked with papers and unfinished letters, and the shelves cluttered with innumerable scrolls. Porthos studied his friend as he read, and the lines around Aramis' eyes that spoke of late nights. His gaze drifted across Aramis' face and the pale streaks of grey in his beard. The office smelled of papers and ink and candlewax. Underneath it all, Aramis' steady alpha scent lingered, a scent Porthos hadn't been near in so long.

"Good. I hope that man's soul burns," Aramis said when he had finished reading. He handed the letter back to Porthos.

Porthos frowned. Those were very strong words coming from Aramis, and ones he used very rarely.

"Still finding ways to trouble my life, though, isn't he?" Porthos scowled at the second leaf of paper in his own large hand, a tidily written letter from the deceased marquis' lawyers. "Telling me I'm an omega, as if I didn't already know that. Telling me I'll need a husband to collect my legacy, when the old wretch knew full well I didn't have one. Serve him right if I turned up with one to claim the whole of it."

"You could," Aramis pointed out.

Porthos snorted in amusement. "Who's volunteering for that, exactly? No alpha's come sniffing around me since, well." He paused, looking down at the floor in discomfort. "It's been a long time."

"Porthos, if you require a speech by way of proposal, I'm sure I can come up with something. Let's see." Aramis cleared his throat theatrically, drawing a wan smile from his friend. "My dearest Porthos--"

Porthos quickly shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous to marry your dear friend, who cares for you deeply?" Aramis narrowed his eyes in a question, the familiar expression at once playful and serious. "You need an alpha, and a husband. I submit my services."

Porthos stared at him as the truth of Aramis' sincerity slowly became clear. "You'd do that? Make a promise to God, just to help me get around this?" Porthos shook the letters in his hand, the papers rustling as he did so.

"I would marry you, yes."

"How's the Queen Regent going to feel about that one?" he asked. "Wouldn't want to find myself shipped to the colonies, would I?"

"I think she'd survive, and so would you," Aramis said, as his mouth tightened.

"I suppose I'm asking how you would feel, then, Aramis." Porthos' voice had turned soft.

Aramis drew out a lengthy moment of silence. "Anne is dear to me. But I cannot very well marry her, can I? It was foolish of either of us to think…well. It was foolish."

"You're not foolish." Porthos didn't like the way his friend's posture had stiffened with sadness. "She'll title you eventually, you know, or the king will. You'll need heirs." Left unspoken was the fact that Porthos was of no age to promise him such a thing.

"I have a son." Aramis' voice was brittle. "I do not require another."

Porthos paused, lips pressed together as he considered his next words. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"You're not offensive to me, Porthos." Aramis managed the shadow of a smile "Irritatingly practical, maybe, except when it comes to securing your own future. You deserve every livre that miserable man ever had, and more besides."

"The church?" Porthos asked, in the wake of Aramis' imploring speech.

"I serve Him perfectly well where I am. Porthos." Aramis sighed, squinting closely at his friend. "At any point during all of this are you going to tell me your true objection?"

Porthos grunted in annoyance. "I don't have one. I just need to think about it. That all right with you?"

"Of course." Aramis smiled, looking unexpectedly relieved. "I will be here whenever you call on me." 

"It's good to see you. I missed you," Porthos admitted. "And your hare-brained ideas."

Aramis drew him into a hug as the seriousness of the previous moment was forgotten. They stood together for a moment, tangled up in each other's warmth and scents. "You've only just arrived. I'm sure there will be more where that came from."

"I can hardly wait," Porthos muttered, but the look he gave Aramis was affectionate.

*

It was three days before Porthos returned with an answer.

"Let's get one thing straight," he said, in lieu of a proper greeting.

Aramis crossed his arms and cocked his eyebrows in expectation.

Porthos drew himself up straight, and declared, "I'm not living in that tomb. Not even for a single night."

Aramis shrugged. "Good. I have a house."

"I hope you don't expect me to keep it for you."

"If I wanted an omega simply to manage the books and the servants, I'd have chosen one long ago," Aramis promised gently. "Are those all your stipulations?"

"No. I'm going back to the front in three months, as scheduled."

The words knocked Aramis into a thoughtful silence. He contemplated Porthos for a while before speaking. "You don't have to. As a married omega, you could ask for--."

"I want to," Porthos interrupted. "It's where I belong. And if my husband is going to argue with me about it, then he can take his proposal and--"

Aramis raised his hands in surrender. "I won't. You have my word."

"Well, then." Porthos nodded once in satisfaction. "What about you? Got any demands?"

"No. I am quite satisfied," Aramis said, with a small smirk.

"Good. Then what are we waiting for?" Porthos asked.

*

They were married the next morning, with only Constance and d'Artagnan in attendance. 

D'Artagnan, dressed in his blue cloak, was grinning widely. "It's about time that both of you were happy," he said.

Constance elbowed him firmly in the ribs. "D'Artagnan. It's none of our business."

"There's been a misunderstanding," Porthos said. He lowered his voice to avoid catching the attention of the priest. "This is just a matter of business. Of paperwork."

D'Artagnan eyed them both with obvious scepticism. "So you're not getting married?"

"We are," Aramis said. He put a hand on Porthos' arm, ignoring the glare he got in return.

"Not living together, then," D'Artagnan said. He sounded disapproving.

"We are," Porthos admitted.

"Not--"

"D'Artagnan," Constance cut him off loudly. "We're here to help celebrate, not meddle."

"You are as always my saviour, Constance," Aramis said, bowing his head gratefully in her direction.

"There will be plenty of time for that later," she added with a mischievous smile.

Porthos sighed.

*

The vows were quickly completed. The time spent in the lawyer's offices while he pored over the documents with his spectacles held to his face was much longer.

"And you're the husband?" he asked Aramis for the third time.

"I am," Aramis stated firmly. There was a touch of alpha in his voice, deep and certain, or perhaps that was the First Minister of France speaking.

"Ah, hmm. It'll take some time to draw up the documents."

"That'll be fine," Porthos said, but Aramis had spoken at the same time. His voice was raised a little louder, and Porthos frowned at the interruption.

"By the end of the week, if you please. I would be happy to have my own lawyers at the palace offer their assistance," he added with a bland smile that still somehow conveyed the implicit threat in his words. The lawyer peered at him unhappily, eyes crossing over the bridge of his glasses.

"That won't be necessary. We'll see to it immediately."

"Thank you," Aramis said. His shoulders relaxed, his smile charming and at ease once more. He ushered Porthos out of the door before the old man could begin to fuss again.

*

Inside the privacy of the carriage as they rode away, Porthos was furious.

"Just because we're married doesn't mean you get to speak for me," he said, arms crossed over his wide chest.

Aramis sighed. He leaned back on the seat across from him. "I know that. I am forced to work with a lot of lawyers, Porthos, and men who deal with papers, and they will all take advantage of your good nature if you let them."

"That would be my business," Porthos answered, mouth set in old stubbornness.

"What happened to one for all, and all for one?"

"That's in a fight. Not this." Porthos waved his hand at the well-appointed carriage.

"It might help to think of it as a different sort of fight, then." Aramis smiled a little, as if to soften the words.

Porthos sighed, hunched over in his seat. "Is it too late to change my mind?" he huffed, then looked up, and flinched at the expression on Aramis' face, as if he'd just had the barrel of a musket swung towards him and was recoiling from the anticipation of injury. "I'm joking," Porthos said quickly. "I know you're…I know."

In the small carriage he could pick up Aramis' alpha scent. Aramis was trying to calm him, probably without realising he was doing it. For once Porthos didn't mind. He was agitated, he could admit, and not just by the dour lawyer's offices.

"I'd rather have something to shoot at," Porthos grumbled.

Aramis leaned forward. His scent grew stronger. "Of course you would. And I know you're a self-sufficient omega, with no need for any of this. But I am your husband now, and I never wish your life to be more difficult if I can prevent it."

Porthos found himself unexpectedly flustered at the fervent declaration. He looked away. "We're already married. You don't need to charm me."

Aramis' mouth lifted in amusement. "I can't help it if I'm charming."

"You haven't changed," Porthos muttered in feigned aggravation, as the coach rolled on.

*

Porthos had been at war for the last four years, and as a result he had few belongings. The few things he'd left in Paris all fit into an old trunk, and he hefted the item a short walk through the streets from the garrison to Aramis' address, grunting at the effort he spent.

Aramis' butler was an old beta with sharp eyes and a kind manner. Porthos soon found himself fussed over an amount that he found disconcerting.

It was strange to be here without Aramis, in a place where Aramis echoed everywhere. There was a bible where he'd left it on a chair by the fire, and a small portrait of Louis in the top drawer of Aramis' desk. It was recent, by the looks of it. The boy was beginning to look like Aramis. The resemblance seemed undeniable to Porthos, who knew Aramis' face so well. 

Maybe people only saw what they expected to see. Carefully Porthos replaced the painting in the desk, and closed the drawer.

*

There were no unidentifiable belongings anywhere in the house, and no lingering scents that couldn't be explained. Porthos stood at the end of the upstairs hallway for a few minutes, waiting for the desire to curl his knuckles and bare his teeth that would mean he'd scented another omega where he hadn't expected to, but there was nothing. It was a relief to know that Aramis had been telling the truth, and Porthos' arrival in the city hadn't completely upended his life. Yet Porthos found he didn't like to think that his friend had truly been sleeping here alone.

*

Porthos ate a hearty dinner alone in the dining room. It had fallen dark, but Aramis was still not home. Porthos picked up the blanket that lay across Aramis' chair. It smelled of Aramis, almost as if he was still wrapped in it. Porthos inhaled the strong, earthy alpha scent, letting it cling to him, and sat down in the chair with the blanket draped over his shoulders. 

It had been a long, hard ride back from the front. Porthos' limbs still ached. He soaked in the warmth of the fire, and opened a book he was not alert enough to make head or tails of. The letters swam in front of his eyes.

Soon, Porthos fell asleep.

*

Porthos woke at the sound of the book clattering to the floor. Aramis was beside him, stooping to retrieve it. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I thought you might have gone to bed by now," Aramis murmured, voice soft as if he was still trying not to disturb him.

"I wasn't sure--" Porthos began, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the flickering firelight. "That is, your man seemed to think I was meant to be installed in your bedroom."

Aramis frowned a little at that, tilting his head curiously. "Aren't you?"

"I didn't think this was that kind of marriage." Porthos coughed.

Aramis' eyes were trained steadily on Porthos now. Porthos shifted, suddenly wide awake. "The sleeping in the same bed kind? Sleeping together?" Aramis asked him.

"Yes." 

"Do you not want it to be?" 

"Is that--" Porthos found himself at a loss. "Is that what you want?"

"I want whatever you want. But it would make me very happy to wake up beside you. And the rest of it," Aramis added with an easy smile.

Porthos stood, suddenly wanting to put himself at Aramis' height. Aramis watched silently as Porthos came to stand in front of him. Porthos stared back at him, trying to read the lines of his face. His lips were parted, as if mid-breath, and his eyes were soft, but they held no more clues to what Aramis was thinking.

"Do you remember the inn at Maçon?" Porthos asked finally. His normally strong voice had quieted to be barely heard above the fire.

Aramis raised a questioning eyebrow. "Do I remember you screaming my name until I felt we might get asked to leave? Yes, I do."

Aramis' fingers reached out and brushed Porthos' neck in a touch that was half-invitation, but Porthos stood stock still without leaning into it. He wasn't angry, or embarrassed, but his stance remained implacable. "I wasn't screaming," he said. 

"You most certainly were," Aramis answered. "And I enjoyed every moment of it." He studied Porthos, and worry began to tug at the corners of his eyes. "Why? What do you remember?"

"I remember Maçon, every second of it. And Bourges, and Saint-Émilion, and that time by the river while Athos was hunting rabbits. I just thought…" Porthos trailed off into an uncertain silence.

"Thought _I_ didn't remember," Aramis said, drawing out each word, staring at his friend in slowly-dawning horror. "Porthos."

"You said nothing." Porthos still spoke in low tones, but now there was a hint of accusation in it.

Aramis said, "Because you seemed to prefer it that way. I know you have no use for alphas."

Porthos frowned. "That's not true."

"No? All your women have been betas. I have never, ever known you to take an alpha to your bed."

"Except you." The truth came out in rough timbre, as if it hurt to say. He hadn't been prepared to make the admission, and speaking it made him feel naked. There was silence in the room. The waning fire crackled, spitting golden embers.

"I admit I had not considered that perspective," Aramis said, voice turned quiet.

Porthos shrugged. Now that he'd raised the memory of their past meetings, his skin felt alight with the ghost of them, and he could think of nothing else.

"Maybe in light of this conversation, we should wait--" Aramis began, hesitantly.

"Don't you dare," Porthos interrupted.

"Are you certain? Because I have no objections to wooing my husband, if that's what you prefer."

"I would prefer to be bedded by my husband," Porthos said, surely and clearly, "and if he's not quick about it, I might have to find another."

"That would be unacceptable."

"Best get started, then."

"Your wish is my command," Aramis said with a flourish, eyes twinkling, then added, "until death parts us." He kissed him.

*

In Aramis' chambers the fire had only just begun to die, and the room was still pleasantly warm. Aramis was kissing him as if his life depended on it. His mouth was sweet and commanding, tongue desperately seeking against Porthos'. His hands held Porthos' waist tightly.

Aramis yanked carelessly at the buttons and laces on Porthos doublet, shirt, on his breeches. Porthos pushed Aramis' shirt over his shoulders, his fingers caressing the bare skin and lingering there. Then he shucked off his boots, laughing, as he tugged a half-dressed Aramis with him onto the bed.

"Porthos," Aramis whispered, pulling Porthos' face to his. He was gasping as they kissed, already smelling sharply of alpha arousal. The scent meant desire coursing through Porthos' own body in response. Aramis mouth was warm and wet and so greedy. He pulled at Porthos' shirt, half managing to get the garment off, and then he froze, pulling away mid-kiss. Porthos went motionless.

Aramis' hands were on his bare midsection, tracing the outline of a long scar through Porthos' abdomen. The healed-over skin showed a pinkish-white line across Porthos' brown skin, and Aramis studied it unhappily. His fingers continued to stroke the skin as if he could melt the injury away with his touch.

"When did you get this?" he asked. "It wasn't in any of the reports. Or your letters."

"Couple years back. Stitches weren't as straight as yours." Porthos' smile showed all his teeth, making something closer to a grimace.

"Where? How? It must have been…Porthos." Aramis' fingers trailed over the length of the scar again.

"Am I being bedded, or interrogated?" Porthos demanded.

"If you're not sure, the Spanish's methods must have changed greatly," Aramis said, but he let the subject go. His kiss was open, desperate, doing nothing to hide his lingering worry.

Porthos pressed his hand over the front of Aramis' breeches, as if in reminder that they had other business. Aramis was beginning to swell there. Porthos stroked up and down over the bulge, watching in approval as Aramis responded to the caress.

"Do you want--" Aramis' voice had begun to grow hoarse.

"Yes," Porthos interrupted.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to suggest you should fuck me. Answer's yes, and also hurry up."

Aramis chuckled. The bed groaned as he rose from it. Porthos watched him removing the rest of his clothing, and then it was just Aramis, naked and smiling in front of him, his thick cock half-risen between his legs. He rifled quickly through the contents of a low drawer, then he was back in bed. He clambered over Porthos to take a position behind him, and Porthos tugged on his arm midway through the movement, causing Aramis to lose his balance.

"You are a menace," Aramis murmured in response to Porthos' barked laughter, as he fell on top of him. He kissed Porthos' neck, then shifted onto his side. His hands stroked the length of Porthos' back before his searching fingers were at his hole. Already slippery, the tip of Aramis' first finger slipped inside him easily. Porthos moaned. A second finger joined the first, twisting and pushing inside him. 

Aramis' fingers felt thick and full inside him, stretching him out. He'd begun to grind back in response to Aramis' movements, shameless in this display of his own lust. "I do love how that feels," Porthos admitted, as his breath came faster.

Aramis' amusement was a warm puff of air on the back of Porthos' neck. "I remember."

Porthos' hand came around to lazily palm his own cock, running his thumb across the head where wetness was beginning to gather. Aramis' cock nudged against the back of Porthos' thighs, the promise of a sound fucking that made Porthos gasp. A third finger pushed into him. His hips bucked forward.

Aramis fingers withdrew, making Porthos moan. "Don't stop," he said, as the blunt head of Aramis' cock rubbed over his hole.

"Hmm?" Aramis whispered, deep and teasing.

Porthos let out a breathless gasp of laughter. "Forgot how you are. Do you want me to beg for it?"

"Would you?" Aramis asked him.

He rubbed himself back and forth over Porthos' opening again, and Porthos shuddered with desire. "You know I would."

"Porthos," Aramis said, soft and wondering, as he finally, slowly breached his hole and pushed inside him.

Porthos keened at the feeling of the swollen cock inside him. Aramis pulled out, then thrust in again, faster this time. Their bodies were warm and heavy together. Aramis' leg was flung over Porthos' own, his fingers curled tight on his hip.

"Yes, like that," Porthos said, then he fell into hard, loud breathing as Aramis fucked him. Deep, guttural noises rose in his throat with each thrust, and he fought them back down.

"Porthos," Aramis said, the name drawn out like a plea. "Porthos, it's just me. I'd like to hear you."

"Harder," Porthos said in response.

Aramis obliged, driving his cock deeper inside Porthos. Porthos let out a yell. Aramis gyrated his hips, angling his thrusts just so, and Porthos made the same noise again, ripped from his throat by need, his whole body trembling.

"Yeah, fuck me. Fuck me like that. Give me that big cock, don't stop, Aramis…" The commands trailed off into helpless, wordless noises that filled the room with the sound of Porthos' pleasure. There was the sound of their bodies meeting, of skin slapping against skin. Porthos yelled again as he broke into pieces, closing his eyes, his large body shaking hard as he climaxed. He released the hot, sticky mess of his pleasure onto his fingers. Aramis fucked him through the long tremors that gripped him, strokes reaching deep inside him still hard and strong.

"Do it," Porthos coaxed, when he could speak again. "You feel so good, do it, come on."

There was no warning except a small hitch of breath. Aramis stilled, his whole body trembling against Porthos. Aramis spilled his seed inside him, clinging to Porthos as ecstasy rolled over him. 

Porthos rolled onto his back, where he could see Aramis' face. Aramis' features were flushed and peaceful as he gazed back at him. "This is how it's going to be, then?" Porthos asked. 

"Mm. Every night, if you wish."

"You might do, as a husband." Porthos reached out a hand to brush Aramis' cheek with his knuckles. Aramis closed his eyes against the touch.

"I missed you," Aramis said in response. His eyelashes fluttered as his eyes flickered open again, his expression so intent and full of affection that Porthos' breath caught on it.

*

They lay like that for a while, drifting mindlessly on a sea of spent bliss. Porthos was startled when Aramis spoke again. He opened his eyes and found Aramis staring at him.

"When is your next heat?" Aramis asked.

"Not for a while, and might not come at all. I'm still taking the herbs."

"Would you stop? Now that you're--we're--married."

The thought that Aramis wanted to be with him during his heat caused a hot rush of blood inside Porthos. Still, he shook his head. "I don't know--there could still be a child. If I stop."

"That would be welcome. If God willed it."

"I thought you didn't want any more children," Porthos said with a frown.

Aramis arched an eyebrow at him. "You have a surprisingly clear memory for what I do and don't say. Are you writing it down?"

Porthos growled impatiently. "Aramis."

"Porthos, I did not wish to marry anyone in your place. But you are here, and a child with you would be a gift."

Porthos still shook his head. "I'm going back to the front. Can't do that with a child in my belly."

"You won't have to, not if the war comes to an end."

"Is that likely to happen?" Porthos asked. Weariness seeped into his voice, unbidden.

"There are talks."

"There are always talks. You can't give in to the Spanish just to keep me in your bed."

"Maybe not. But you might find me willing to do quite a lot." Porthos could see the sparkle of a smile in his eyes, even in the dying firelight.

Porthos sighed. "I am sure I'm too old for all of this."

"Yes, you mentioned such a thing in your letters. In relation to the rain, the sun, the Spanish cannons--"

"Not a single one of those things is as dangerous as you are," Porthos insisted, before moving to kiss him again. Aramis laughed, a clear, pleased sound that was soon swallowed by the press of Porthos' mouth against his.

*

They pulled the covers up around them, and fell asleep in the warmth of each other. Both were abruptly woken again in the dark by a knock at the door.

There was a servant at the door holding a message, and a lit candle for Aramis to read it by. Aramis perused it, then nodded.

"I'll be leaving straightaway."

"Yes, sir," the servant said, withdrawing and closing the door behind him.

"Don't tell me we don't even get to spend our first wedded night together." Porthos made a grumbling noise, and stretched sleepily.

Aramis leaned over the bed, hand running gently over the expanse of Porthos' bare back in silent apology. "The Spanish never sleep."

"Don't like it," Porthos grouched. "When do you think you'll return?"

Aramis sighed, shrugging one shoulder. "Depends on how long the council wishes to argue amongst themselves before coming to any decision."

"That sounds wretched. How do you do it?"

"By reminding myself that it must be done. And there are side benefits." Aramis smiled the hazy, distant smile that meant he was thinking of his son. "I will be back," he added.

"Of course you will. You live here." Porthos rolled over onto his back, his eyes tracking each movement as Aramis moved away and began to get dressed. The floorboards creaked with his weight.

"So do you," Aramis reminded him.

"So I do." Porthos' answering grin split his face from ear to ear. He watched Aramis leave, shutting the door gently behind him, then rolled over into the warm space that Aramis had left behind and fell fast asleep.

*fin.


End file.
